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Author: Digital Editor

Expanding Federal Budget Tests Limits of Fiscal Discipline

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A well-worn adage says, “Budget is not destiny, but it is direction.” Examining the budget bill for 2025/26 now before Parliament, the federal government’s compass appears to be drifting.

The budget bill reads more like a political document than an account book. It sets spending at 1.93 trillion Br, more than triple the 561.7 billion splashed out in 2022/23.

At face value, the figures may inspire awe. However, without matching gains in revenue, productivity, or administrative capacity, they could risk turning from promise into burden. The burden may prove heavy indeed.

The spectacular rise is matched by an awkward reshuffle. Recurrent spending, the cash that keeps the civil service paid and lights on, has been set at 1.18 trillion Br, pushing its share of the budget from 28.9pc five years ago to 61.4pc now. The share of capital outlays, which was once 32.7pc, slid to 21.5pc.

A country with successive governments famous for roads and dams now mostly settles wages and consumption. It could be seen as a swing, as eating tomorrow’s seed corn to feed today’s hunger.

Regional governments feel the squeeze most keenly. Federal transfers, representing 36.3pc of the budget five years ago, slide to 16.3pc in the budget bill. On paper, this might signal new faith in local tax collection. More likely, it mirrors a drift towards centralisation and a widening vertical fiscal gap.

The Constitution promises fiscal federalism; its ledgers now whisper something different. Under-funded, regional states would be compelled to cut corners on schools, clinics, and roads, stoking disparities that may risk national cohesion.

Commitment to the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) has also stalled. Allocations aimed at achieving SDG targets have been stuck at 14 billion Br for five consecutive years. Back in 2022/23, it was 2.14pc of the budget; it is now a meagre 0.73pc.

Economists class such spending as a positive externality. Money that nudges the economy’s productive frontier outwards through healthier, better-educated citizens. Finance Minister Ahmed Shidie’s decision to freeze it chills more than the development lobby.

Nonetheless, execution, not allocation, could tell the grimmer tale of the budget before the legislative house. In the outgoing fiscal year, federal executive agencies have shown dismal implementation rates. For instance, the Ministry of Finance, the author of the budget bills, executed only 55.7pc of a budget that was 87.6pc capital heavy.

The pattern shows clogged procurement pipelines and frail project management. The timing of the fiscal impulse is misaligned, dulling its macroeconomic punch.

Regulators make better use of pennies than ministries do of the budget. The Federal Auditor-General and the Ethiopian Capital Market Authority spent 77.6pc of their allocations. Defence gulped 91.5pc of its 88.5 billion Br budget. Economic affairs officials received 24.2 billion Birr, mostly for capital expenditure, yet executed only 57.9pc. Justice agencies hit 66.4pc, police and prisons 87.3pc, proving that efficiency is fickle.

Behind every line item ticks a debt clock. If expenditure grows by nine percent a year and revenues do not, the debt-to-GDP ratio will breach 60pc by 2035, above the 55pc limit the IMF and World Bank deem sustainable for low-income countries.

Even a rosier scenario where the GDP grows by eight percent with flat revenues, merely stabilises the ratio near 35pc, too high for comfort. Faster growth on its own will not rescue the fiscal situation; only a surge in tax and non-tax revenue can. It seems that federal authorities have taken note of this, judging by their relentless pursuit to boost domestic revenues, with the tax-to-GDP ratio planned to reach double digits in a few years.

The foreign exchange realities may add another wrinkle. In dollars, the budget bill is worth about 14.3 billion, below the 16.8 billion dollars figure a year earlier and even the 14.5 billion dollars of 2023/24. Depreciation and inflation erode the government’s ability to import fuel, fertilisers, medicines, and machinery. Although the budget swells in Birr; the dollar value shrinks.

Taken together, the trends make for uncomfortable reading. The state spends more, invests less, recentralises funds, under-shoots the SDGs and underspends even the money it allocates. Inflation sits high, reserves sit low, and politics remains fraught. The risk may not be an immediate default, but it could spiral into a slow-burn stagnation that wastes the country’s youthful demographics.

However, budget planners cannot be left without options.

Expenditure should be yoked to productivity again, channelling more cash into public infrastructure that can generate business and employment, and social services in education and health. The tax net needs widening, VAT compliance needs to be tightened, and state-owned firms should be pressed to pay dividends that forecasts blithely assume will materialise.

The budget bill is expansionary yet under-executed, centralising yet federal in spirit, developmental in rhetoric but consumption-heavy in fact.

Persistent inflation, a liquidity crunch on the domestic front, and foreign exchange limitations, albeit improved marginally in recent months, compound the dangers. Paying salaries may soothe short-term unrest, but starving capital projects of funds chips away at future earnings. The dams, railways, and industrial parks that once dazzled the public are being eclipsed by payrolls and per diems. Capital expenditure share of the budget has slipped from nearly a third to barely a fifth, when compound growth from earlier years should be reinforced, not relaxed.

None of this should warrant panic, but it does demand a serious response. Federal lawmakers can establish a medium-term fiscal framework and advocate for codified rules, such as limits on recurring spending and debt ratios, to restore a measure of credibility. They could accelerate stalled tax administration reforms that promise quicker wins than broad new levies. They might also rekindle public confidence by devoting clearer shares of the budget to health, education, and infrastructure, areas that unlock concessional finance.

They can also press for transfers to regional states to be stabilised if federalism is to have any chance of functioning. No less important is that the SDG budgets need to grow if the development narrative is to hold water.

International partners continue to view Ethiopia as vital to the stability of the Horn of Africa. They can sweeten the adjustment with technical help and cheap loans, but only if Addis Abeba shows a credible plan for solvency. High inflation, rapid currency depreciation, and rising default premia already hint at tightening external financing conditions.

Ultimately, the gamble at the heart of the 2025/26 budget is clear. Spending big on recurrent items will buy social calm long enough for growth to return and debts to diminish in relative terms. It may. But if growth falters or the taxman comes up short, today’s calm will prove dear. The budget authors would then face harsh choices: slash spending, raise taxes, or plead anew with creditors.

The country has a young population, its infrastructure base, though fraying, is broader than a decade ago, and its geography offers trade corridors waiting to be developed. Fiscal overreach need not become fiscal collapse. But recovery starts with numbers, not aspirations.

Until the ledger balances growth against affordability, the nearly two-trillion-Birr budget will read less like a manifesto of renewal and more like a warning label.

As the Capital Rises, the Regions Wait for a Turn

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It is stating the obvious to claim Addis Abeba is placed foremost in the economy, playing the protagonist, director and banker of national growth. The data affirms this louder than any.

Though the capital houses only three percent of the population, it produces 29pc of urban GDP and nearly a quarter of national output. Glass towers line Africa Avenue (Bole Road), fountains spray at Meskel Square, and highways speed commuters across the city, while coffee growers in Kaffa still pull timber and beans over dirt tracks to markets they barely reach.

That gap is no accident. Ethiopia’s development model follows a core-periphery script. The centre collects infrastructure, talent, and power, while the regional states supply raw materials, labour, and land without proportionate investment. Unequal-exchange theory calls it a one-way flow of surplus. Even the World Bank, not known for flattery, said the “rising tide” of growth “failed to lift all boats.” From 2005 to 2016, the bottom 40pc of rural Ethiopia saw no gain in per-capita consumption.

Concentrating growth in a single city makes the economy brittle. The Ethiopian Economics Association (EEA) reports widening regional gaps, with the capital and a few favoured zones absorbing the majority of the federal government’s capital spending. Vast areas remain untapped because they lack roads, clinics and electricity. Ironically, the federated states fund progress that they do not use.

The city’s dynamism also drains talent. Students, engineers, doctors and civil servants stream into Addis Abeba, turning regional towns into feeder hubs. The private sector vacuum also siphons ambition from secondary cities. Youth from Gondar, Dire Dawa, and beyond are drawn to the city, while teachers and civil servants from regional states seek transfers here. The periphery bleeds talent, ironically reinforcing the elite narrative that Addis Abeba must centralise resources because “the rest of the country has no skilled labour.” It sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

For many migrants, the switch is bittersweet. Escaping rural poverty often means replacing it with crowded housing and informal work. A recent demolition drive on the city’s edge displaced more than 100,000 low-income residents, showing how projects that beautify boulevards can uproot the workers who built them.

Capital follows pavement. Investment flows “as smoothly as a Sheger boulevard,” while infrastructure-poor but resource-rich states, such as Kaffa Zone, struggle to attract credit. In the eight years beginning in 2013, the rural population rose by 24.4pc, outpacing a 20.8pc rise in rural-to-urban migration. Rural Ethiopia grows faster than it urbanises, deepening a paradox. Prosperity clusters in the capital even as countryside hardship widens.

Attempts to spread industry often leave control in Addis Abeba. An industrial park may sit in Hawassa or Kombolcha, but cash and command still run through companies and firms headquartered in Addis Abeba. Local governments become spectators despite constitutional promises of self-rule and fiscal decentralisation. And numbers tell the story.

Only 57pc of districts in the Somali Regional State are reached by asphalt; coverage is lower in the Afar Regional State. Yet, the capital presses ahead with light-rail extensions, new terminals and beautification drives. Urban glamour is evident in Unity Park and along the main manicured roads, while clinics in Gambella Regional State lack access to clean water, and children in Benishangul Regional State walk for hours to school.

Policy moves from the centre can feel punitive at the edges. Currency depreciation and subsidy cuts planned in Addis Abeba reach villages in regional states not as reform but as higher food prices and the risk of drought. Systems theory would call it a feedback loop. Central nodes grow stronger as peripheral ones depend on them.

Leaders in Somali Regional State may say currency moves and subsidy cuts are drafted “without even a post-it of consultation.” Officials in Afar Regional State could voice similar complaints when decisions about freight tariffs or fuel prices arrive by circular from Addis Abeba. Such top-down governance, they could argue, treats local administrations as mere extensions of the capital rather than elected governments.

Even agencies meant to devolve resources often retain their senior managers and budgets in the capital, leaving regions with little say over projects on their own soil. The imbalance shows up in hard data. The Gini Coefficient index is climbing, and resentment in the hinterlands rises with it. The growth story risks resembling “accumulation by extraction,” with airports, rails, and green parks financed by resources from neglected districts.

Addis Abeba’s brand machine nonetheless sells optimism. Billboards hail the capital as a “Renaissance City”; its skyline is used as shorthand for national progress. Drought or hardship in rural zones rarely command the same airtime as a ribbon-cutting downtown. Symbolism, like tarmac roads, is unevenly laid.

Officials appear enthusiastic about digital transformation, achieving middle-income status, and new investment corridors. Critics argue that before the country wires itself for fintech, it should pave the way for Kaffa and give regions a voice in setting the plan. The hinterlands hide billions in potential output; unlocking it would enlarge, not diminish, the capital’s fortunes.

Over-centralisation is not merely unjust; it is inefficient. Hoarding talent and capital leaves much of the country underused and weakens the base needed for lasting growth. A strategy that channels money beyond the ring road, equips regional schools and hospitals, and lets local leaders set priorities could turn millions of spectators into stakeholders.

The cranes over the capital’s skylines could serve as a pathfinder to what the whole country could become. The challenge is to ensure those towers cast light, not shadows, on the lands that sustain them.

Matters of Manners

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As we walked down the road from Mexico (then Maychew Square) to AU (then OAU), the four of us munched on what we called Nechu Qolo, properly called Shimbra Dube, bought from Mebrat Hayl recreation center. Thousands queued in the Bingo hall there, eyes glued to cards as winning numbers were called. Vendors selling qolo, chewing gum, and lewz (peanuts) swarmed the gates, catering to the players.

A familiar argument erupted among us over whether to take our “wuyiyit” taxi or spend the transport money on the delicious snack. My classmate Binyam Bisrat and I always voted for the snack. My younger brothers Abiy and Tewodros Balcha preferred the taxi.

As Berhanu Tezera once sang in his folk ballad you cannot get Shimbra Dube on credit. It was a snack paid for in hard choices. Buying the Qolo meant walking, and we elders had the burden of persuasion. We usually succeeded.

Binyam would eventually turn toward Bulgaria Mazoria, and the rest of us would climb the steep road to Sar Bet and the Vatican Embassy. Along the way, we would pass the makeshift football field, where I once saw national hero Mulugeta Kebede play joyfully with neighborhood kids. That alone made the long walk worth it.

Every evening at six, we would be stopped at the gate of the nearby military warehouse. The soldiers would lower the Ethiopian flag with solemn reverence. Their stern faces taught us patriotism without uttering a word. It left a lasting impression on what it meant to love your country.

Discipline and respect were daily rituals, not abstractions. At our church school, we lined up each morning, said the Lord’s Prayer, and sang the national anthem. On the streets, every adult became a surrogate parent. They would correct, scold, or even tap you on the wrist if you strayed, followed by the ever-familiar, “Boy, where are your manners?”

Social etiquette was not taught as a theory; it was modeled everywhere. Bowing to elders, using two hands to greet, and modestly refusing food out of politeness were part of daily life. Manners were not special; they were expected. Elders would bless well-behaved youth, and affection was a given, not a gesture.

It is easy to romanticize the past, but those norms of decency were real. I did not fully grasp how much they had eroded in our society until I visited Japan last December. From the moment I landed at Narita International Airport, people bowed deeply, offered help without hesitation, and made sure visitors felt seen.

In Japan, strangers go out of their way to assist, even overcoming language barriers with apps that transcribe and translate in real time. If you lose your phone on a Tokyo train, it will likely be turned to the lost-and-found. Such behavior reveals a national moral compass. Goethe once said, “A man’s manners are a mirror in which he shows his portrait.” Japan reflects its best self.

Contrast this with what I saw back home. In one spa, someone left their wet slippers on a shared stool despite ample floor space nearby. Was it thoughtlessness or spite? Either way, it denied others comfort. I have seen running taps left open in public restrooms, common spaces blocked as if privately owned, and even cars abandoned mid-road while their owners drink and dance nearby.

One night, a narrow one-lane road became a traffic nightmare because a group parked their 4WD right in the middle and refused to move. No one dared confront them. Their leisure mattered more than the needs of a dozen drivers trying to pass. It was both stunning and deeply disappointing.

Even in the men’s bathroom, basic decency is rare. I once saw a young man flush the urinal, a rare act, and thanked him. He shyly nodded, silently acknowledging our shared dismay. Others routinely urinate on seats without lifting the lid or even flushing. It is not about privacy. It is about carelessness.

Then there is the culture of public rudeness. People stare at strangers for an extended period or even until out of sight without shame and for no apparent reason. Motorists ignore right-of-way. Queue-cutting is rampant. Worst of all, public urination, especially by taxi drivers, remains common. Some even urinate on their car wheels as if marking territory. Animals do so with biological purpose. Humans, in this case, have no such excuse.

A friend once visited Singapore and casually tossed a gum wrapper on the pavement. A Porsche driver stopped, picked it up, disposed of it properly, and left without a word. His silence said more than scolding could. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” was written all over that act.

In our part of the world, where acts like vandalism or public indecency are barely frowned upon, it was a revelation. But we are slowly changing. Decency and development are not at odds. In fact, old-fashioned manners often support modernity.

That is why, in Japan, even the samurai, clad in kimono, katana in hand, sandal-footed and hair in a topknot, waits his turn to board the train, avoids staring, and keeps to his phone on silent. Civilization is not just skyscrapers and smartphones; it is, above all, a matter of manners.

Why the Clock Should Not Run Out on Share Ownership

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Ownership is widely recognised as the most comprehensive right one can possess over physical property, entitling an individual to control, use, enjoy the benefits of, and ultimately dispose of the assets in question.

This complete authority comprises three core aspects: usus (the right to use the property), fructus (the right to enjoy the fruits or benefits from it), and abusus (the right to dispose of or transfer it). Together, they grant the owner a vital power to use the property as desired.

The Constitution explicitly protects the right to property as a democratic right. Under Article 40(3), the Constitution guarantees every citizen the right to own property, including the right to buy, use, and transfer ownership through legal channels such as sales or inheritance. This constitutional provision acknowledges property ownership not only as a personal entitlement but as essential for broader economic and social stability.

However, such ownership rights are subject to legal restrictions intended to safeguard public interest and protect the rights of others.

The law categorises property broadly into movable and immovable properties, the former being tangible objects that can be moved without changing their inherent characteristics. The Civil Code further differentiates between ordinary movable property, such as everyday household items, and special movable property, which includes items like corporate shares.

The transfer procedures for movable properties, including corporate shares, vary based on their classification. For ordinary movable property and bearer shares, transfer of ownership is straightforward, requiring only the physical handover of the item or the bearer document. Once delivered, ownership is presumed to be transferred unless proven otherwise.

This simplicity reflects the practical need for efficiency and flexibility in commerce.

However, transferring ownership of registered shares, such as those issued by share companies or private limited companies (PLCs), involves a more structured procedure. Unlike bearer shares, registered shares are required to undergo formal registration procedures.

Ownership of these shares is transferred only after the transaction has been recorded in the company’s shareholder register. The registration details the names and addresses of the seller and buyer, the number of shares transferred, and the precise date of the transfer.

Transferring registered shares also demands a formal resolution by the existing shareholders. Such resolutions should be notarised and documented in meeting minutes. The company’s Memorandum of Association should be amended to officially acknowledge the new shareholder, displaying the change clearly in company records.

This formal approach to share transfers is meant to serve several crucial policy objectives.

Registration enables clear identification of shareholders, which is vital in industries with restrictions on foreign or diaspora ownership. It helps authorities ensure compliance by clearly identifying legitimate shareholders.

It also supports revenue collection efforts, particularly in the enforcement of capital gains taxes. When shares are sold above their original value, proper documentation through registration helps track these financial gains, ensuring accurate taxation.

Registration safeguards the interests of third parties. Share Companies, unlike PLCs, may experience discrepancies between subscribed and paid-up capital. Shareholders remain legally responsible for any unpaid subscribed capital. Without a formal register, determining financial responsibilities becomes challenging.

Accurate records clarify these obligations, ensuring transparency and fairness.

Registered shares often serve as collateral in financial transactions. Legal recognition through registration provides banks and other creditors with assurance about the authenticity of ownership, which is crucial when establishing valid security interests.

The legal characteristics of registered shares closely resemble those of immovable property, especially concerning proof of ownership and formal transfer procedures. This similarity prompts an important legal question, though.

Should ownership claims (petitory actions) over registered shares be limited by time?

From a plaintiff’s perspective, imposing a period of limitation can encourage timely legal action, ensuring cases are addressed promptly when evidence is fresh and reliable. For defendants, limitation periods offer protection against indefinite legal uncertainty, while courts benefit from managing their caseloads efficiently by avoiding outdated claims.

However, the argument against applying limitation periods to registered shares is compelling.

Ethiopia’s law lacks an explicit limitation period for registered shares. While the Civil Code, under Article 1192, sets a 10-year limitation for ordinary movable property whose location or ownership the owner has lost track of, it makes a clear distinction in Article 1186(2), suggesting that different rules apply to special movable property.

The absence of explicit time constraints for special movable properties, such as registered shares, implies the legislature’s intention to exclude them from limitation periods.

A precedent from the Federal Supreme Court demonstrates that no limitation period applies to disputes involving immovable property. Given the comparable formal requirements for immovable property and registered shares, this precedent logically extends to registered shares, reinforcing the position against limitation periods.

Neither do legal principles dictate that limitation periods should be narrowly interpreted. Without explicit legal provisions mandating such limits, courts should refrain from inferring them. The constitutional guarantee of property rights strengthens this position, emphasising that restrictions on fundamental rights require clear and explicit legal authorisation.

Considering the nature of property rights, it reinforces the argument against limitations. Property rights are inherently enduring and are not forfeited merely due to inactivity. For instance, shareholders maintain their ownership rights irrespective of their participation in corporate affairs or dividend collection. Therefore, inactivity alone cannot extinguish ownership rights.

Finally, moral and ethical considerations further support excluding registered shares from limitation periods. Property rights, historically upheld in Ethiopian legal tradition, emphasise lawful acquisition and protection against wrongful possession.

The ancient legal text, “Fetha Negest,” articulates this principle clearly: “Do not take the wealth of anyone by violence; do not buy from him by force either openly or by trick.” Thus, allowing property ownership to lapse simply because a rightful owner has not promptly contested unauthorised possession violates fundamental ethical standards.

The comprehensive protection of ownership rights, as detailed in the constitutional and civil law, supports maintaining unlimited temporal scope for claims over registered shares. Unlike bearer shares or ordinary movable property, whose ownership claims can lapse due to lack of timely action, registered shares demand continued ownership legal protection.

BRICS Countries Plot New World Order as Global South Demands a New Playbook

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Brazil’s capital, Rio de Janeiro, will host the BRICS+ Summit of presidents and heads of state between July 6 and 7, 2025. With 10 current member states and many others seeking to join, the BRICS+ brings together countries with diverse political, cultural, and civilisational outlooks, but which share a commitment to promoting South-South cooperation and pursuing a more equitable, multipolar global order.

Such efforts are needed more than ever because climate-change mitigation and adaptation cannot be separated from socioeconomic development. From a production standpoint, responding to such a complex, multifaceted challenge requires integration into higher rungs of the value chain, through strategies underpinned by strong sustainability principles. In practice, that means adopting policies to incentivise energy-efficient production methods and expanding into higher-value-added industrial outputs.

But, industrial decarbonisation depends on knowledge-intensive sectors and technologies, and investments in these areas do not arise organically from market dynamics. They require political will, strategic planning, a risk appetite for long-duration projects, and – crucially – increased productivity through the more efficient use of natural resources. Such an agenda demands empowered states. It calls for a strategic mobilisation of public institutions that can operate with relative independence from fiscal constraints.

The BRICS+ should focus on identifying complementarities across strategic sectors and activities, enabling member states to drive innovation and strengthen their international competitiveness without undermining one another. Initiatives such as the Partnership for the New Industrial Revolution (PartNIR) represent important steps in this direction.

Moving beyond dialogue is essential. To translate commitments into concrete action, policymakers should engage a broader coalition of stakeholders, including companies, civil society, trade unions, and academia, to co-develop policies, guiding principles, and common standards. Creating shared value among businesses and communities not only strengthens relationships but also enhances the sustainability and reputation of those businesses.

This, in turn, enables greater public acceptance and reduces the potential for resistance or conflict.

Specifically, new investments could require labour safeguards such as fair working conditions, the prohibition of child and forced labour, and protection of freedom of association and collective bargaining rights, all by international agreements and national legislation. Safeguards promoting gender equality and the elimination of racial discrimination would support a more inclusive and comprehensive understanding of sustainability, informed by the perspectives of the Global South.

Finance is another critical pillar. Here, the discussion should be led by members’ state-owned financial institutions, since these are best positioned to direct capital to strategic sectors and coordinate their efforts with private investors. BRICS+ countries already have dozens of public development banks and sovereign wealth funds with patient-investment (long-term) mandates, technical expertise, and demonstrable experience in supporting structural change and sustainable development initiatives. These institutions offer fertile ground for further cooperation, particularly through innovative financial instruments that could strengthen the role of the New Development Bank.

Importantly, public development banks and sovereign wealth funds should go beyond merely correcting market failures. They should serve as early-stage investors to catalyse the necessary structural transformation, including by attaching social and environmental conditionalities to their investment frameworks to influence private decisions across the value chain. For example, a company may be required to share its technology and knowledge in exchange for public financing. That is how the state can facilitate new markets and ensure that public support contributes to the development of more inclusive and sustainable economic models.

With clear short-, medium-, and long-term targets, such as the BRICS’ goal of tripling renewable energy capacity by 2030, public programs to direct resources toward specific sectors would naturally enhance coordination. Each member state will need to adopt policies that target sectors ripe for productivity and efficiency enhancements. Input-output dynamics can be shaped through a number of channels, including effective demand, derisking mechanisms, reduced unit production costs, and measures to encourage private investment, including through public procurement.

The value chains for critical minerals and energy bio-inputs (such as sustainable aviation fuel) are two such sectors. Countries like Brazil have already made advances in these domains and are in a position to share some technologies and expertise in exchange for strategic financing.

An effective BRICS+ development agenda will require a coordinated mobilisation of resources and institutional efforts, with the state playing a central role in steering the overall strategy. More than a mere investor or financier, the public sector is uniquely positioned to anchor private expectations in an increasingly uncertain world. Brazil’s BRICS+ presidency, which comes at a time of rising protectionism and global economic fragmentation, presents a historic opportunity to advance a model of cooperation that is attuned to the Global South’s economic realities and development imperatives.

Ethiopia’s Scorecard Sets a New Standard for Inclusive Finance

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In a historic first for Ethiopia’s financial sector, the National Bank of Ethiopia (NBE) has unveiled the “Women’s Financial Inclusion Scorecard”, a pioneering initiative that may well become a game-changer in the quest for gender equity in finance. Designed in partnership with the World Bank’s Africa Gender Innovation Lab, the Scorecard represents more than just a measurement tool; it is a bold statement of intent and a strategic lever for reform.

Why does this matter?

For far too long, women in Ethiopia have remained underserved and underrepresented, both as clients of and leaders in financial institutions. They are 1.5 times less likely than men to access formal loans, hold fewer digital accounts, and occupy an extremely small proportion of senior management roles. The Scorecard wants to change this.

The tool, developed as part of Ethiopia’s National Financial Inclusion Strategy II (NFIS-II, 2021–2025), offers a standardised way for banks to assess their performance across three critical dimensions: women in their workforce, women’s use of financial products, and financial innovation tailored to women’s needs. This structured and data-driven approach marks a shift from aspirational rhetoric to actionable accountability.

The findings from the inaugural cycle, spanning 30 of the 32 commercial banks, reveal an industry that is beginning to move but still has a long way to go. On average, banks score 2.95 in the composite index, ranging from one (lowest) to five (highest), placing most institutions in the average “Building Momentum” category. Encouragingly, one institution, Enat Bank, founded with a mission to serve women, achieved the highest status, “Transformational,” demonstrating what is possible when inclusion is at the core of its institutional identity.

Enat Bank was the only institution to achieve a “Transformational” score, but it is not alone in demonstrating meaningful progress. Three other banks, such as Goh Betoch, Tsedey, and Wegagen, were rated “Intentional,” signalling their strong institutional commitment to women’s inclusion. A further 19 banks, including Ahadu, Amhara, Abyssinia, Bunna, Commercial Bank of Ethiopia, Cooperative Bank of Oromia, Dashen, Global Bank Ethiopia, Hibret, Hijra, Lion International, Nib International, Omo, Oromia, Shabelle, Siinqee, Siket, ZamZam, and Zemen, are “Building Momentum,” illustrating growing but not yet fully institutionalised efforts.

The remaining seven financial institutions  Abay, Addis International, Awash, Development Bank of Ethiopia, Gadaa, Rammis, and Tsehay  were assessed as either “Neutral” or in “Emerging Awareness,” indicating foundational or early-stage engagement with gender inclusion.

Government mandates are playing a vital role in nudging the sector forward. Recent regulations require at least one woman on every bank board and aim for 25pc of senior management to be female. These policies are not merely symbolic; they are catalysing fundamental institutional shifts, especially in workforce inclusion, where board diversity is visibly improving. Yet, progress is uneven. While workforce metrics show some progress, especially in boardroom representation, structural support for women, such as childcare, flexible work arrangements, and mentorship, remains scarce.

On the client side, banks are beginning to reach more women, but products often remain generic and poorly tailored to women’s unique financial realities. Innovation, particularly in digital finance, is still in its infancy.

What the Scorecard ultimately reveals is not failure, but untapped potential. Women are not a niche market. They are a growth engine. Research has consistently shown that women repay loans at higher rates, invest more in their families, and can drive broader social and economic impact when financially empowered. The Women Entrepreneurship Development Project, for instance, reported a 99.6pc loan repayment rate among women participants. Closing the gender gap in access to finance could unlock up to 3.7 billion dollars annually in additional GDP for Ethiopia.

The message to banks is clear. Investing in women is not charity, but a smart business move.

To accelerate momentum, financial institutions should move beyond compliance and into strategy. First, they need to develop financial products based on the lived experiences of women, with products that are flexible, accessible, and relevant to informal workers, smallholder farmers, and urban entrepreneurs alike. Digital innovation should also be gender-intentional. The digital divide is real, and solutions should be designed to include, not exclude, women.

Internally, the sector can create leadership pathways for women, backed by mentorship, professional development, and family-friendly policies. And critically, all of this should be underpinned by data. Many banks still lack the systems to collect and analyse gender-disaggregated data, limiting their ability to design responsive services or track their impact.

The NBE has wisely positioned the Scorecard not as an enforcement tool, but as a learning and transparency mechanism. This approach promotes a culture of progress rather than sanction, enabling institutions to benchmark against peers, identify gaps, and adopt best practices.

Looking ahead, the Scorecard offers a foundation for systemic change. But it will only succeed if banks treat it not as a box-ticking exercise, but as a strategic compass. Regulators, investors, and donors can reinforce this by aligning capital, incentives, and technical support with institutions that lead on inclusion.

Ethiopia’s financial institutions now face a choice. Either they will have to remain passive observers in the face of systemic inequality, or become active architects of an inclusive economy. The Scorecard has lit the path. It is up to the industry to walk it.

Working But Still Broke in a World That Promises More

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My first job was in a cybercafé. I was in medical school in Nigeria, my home country, but the school was not in session, as our professors were on strike for higher pay. I secured a full-time position providing customer support to the dozens of people hunched over desktop computers.

My compensation would be variable, paid in cash when the business made “enough profit.” It would barely cover my living expenses, and benefits, from healthcare to sick days, were not included. I learned a lot from that job. But perhaps the most important lesson was that work does not guarantee well-being.

For decades, development policy and programming have treated work and well-being as synonymous. While the work-centric model of well-being is considered inadequate in some cases – for example, for people living with disabilities – the question of how to become financially secure is typically met with one answer: get a job. And development initiatives have often focused on facilitating this process.

There are good reasons for this. A job can be a source of dignity and purpose. It can provide structure to daily life, connections to the community, and opportunities for personal growth and skills development. Perhaps most important, a job provides an income, which is critical to economic security.

But, as I saw firsthand at that cybercafé, many jobs are too low-paying to provide any semblance of prosperity, and too precarious to provide financial stability. While global unemployment stands at a historic low of five percent, more than two billion workers worldwide remain financially insecure.

In 2021, the World Bank found that 63pc of adults in developing economies reported being “very worried” about one or more common financial expenses, and 45pc reported that they would not be able to access extra funds to cover an unexpected expense within 30 days. Things are not all that much better in high-income countries. In the United States, 59pc of people do not have enough savings to cover an unexpected 1,000 dollars emergency expense. The bottom 60pc of US households cannot afford a “minimal quality of life.”

This problem is set to worsen. From violent conflict to technological disruption, major shocks are becoming so frequent and severe that no job – even a good one – offers true security. Meanwhile, inflation is eroding purchasing power, particularly for the lowest-income households, in many parts of the world, undermining financial resilience.

Making matters worse, many countries are facing rapid population aging, where fewer working-age adults are supporting more retirees. Traditional employment-centred pension schemes are expected to break down when more than a quarter of the population is beyond working age. That threshold will be crossed globally in 2030.

Policymakers and the development community now confront an urgent choice: either watch the gulf between work and well-being continue to widen, or revise our approach so that it focuses not on maximising employment, but on delivering universal financial well-being. This means that everyone can reliably cover their living expenses and save enough to weather most shocks without resorting to high-cost borrowing.

Effective interventions would include labour policies that ensure adequate incomes and portable benefits even for gig and informal workers; automatic stabilisers, such as unemployment insurance and child allowances; and accessible, even mandatory, savings programs. Educational campaigns can enhance individuals’ ability to make informed financial decisions.

Some of these interventions are already occurring. Singapore’s Central Provident Fund promotes long-term financial security by helping citizens accumulate savings for a wide range of objectives, including retirement, home ownership, and healthcare. New Zealand’s KiwiSaver, a voluntary program focused on retirement savings, has shown that automatic enrollment dramatically increases impact. The European Union’s Child Guarantee ensures that children in need can access key services, easing financial pressure on families.

More such initiatives are in development. In the US, the proposed Portable Benefits for Independent Workers Pilot Programme Act would test models for delivering benefits to gig workers. But, if we are to build a world in which every person is secure in their current and future finances, still more should be done.

Critics might argue that decoupling well-being from work would reduce people’s incentive to participate in the labour market. However, experience has shown that when people have financial security, they make better employment decision, invest in eductiona, take entrepreneurial risks and contribute more productively to the economy. The costs of maintaining the status quo – in the form of lost productivity, higher healthcare spending, and emergency crisis responses – dwarf those of investing in universal financial well-being.

I feel fortunate that I no longer have a job that offers no benefits or sufficient income to save. But this should not be a matter of luck. Everyone deserves basic financial well-being, and perhaps more important, we have the means to deliver it.

Absence of Agile Discipline

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In Ethiopia, across both public and private sectors, a quiet saboteur undermines productivity: the meeting. Too often, gatherings stretch endlessly, draining time, energy, and focus, yet producing little in return.

Having worked extensively with European companies and international teams, I have experienced a radically different rhythm. There, meetings are swift, 10 to 20 minutes long, with a clear agenda, tight execution, and outcomes that matter.

When I traveled for work or joined virtually, participants would log in early, never late. Every session had a defined purpose, and by the end, responsibilities were assigned, reports drafted, and deadlines set. Time was sacred. Momentum was everything.

In global organizations, agility is cultural. You will find daily stand-ups, weekly sprint reviews, one-page agendas, and crisp syncs. Decisions are measured in actions, not airtime. This is not just efficiency, it is respect for one another’s time and a belief in forward motion.

The Ethiopian reality paints a different picture. Professionals often spend entire days in rooms with vague or absent agendas. Discussions meander, attendance is performative, and there is often no clarity, only the promise of another meeting. These are not minor quirks but structural inefficiencies draining potential.

Meetings, ideally, should align teams, resolve bottlenecks, and propel action. However, here they frequently become ritualistic and drawn-out affairs. They are socially gratifying but professionally hollow, masking a distinct absence of progress. The illusion that longer meetings equate to greater output persists.

Hierarchy plays a role. Junior staff hesitate to challenge or redirect. Senior voices dominate. Interruptions feel taboo. The conversation loops, veers, and drifts, anchored more by formality than function. Appearances trump outcomes.

This facade eventually erodes morale. Goal-driven professionals who crave structure and results find themselves demoralized. Hours disappear into open-ended dialogue, leaving little accomplished. It is like walking without a destination.

The private sector is not immune. I have sat in hours-long marketing or operations sessions where participants trickle in late, conversations meander, and decisions are perpetually deferred. The meeting ends, but no one knows what is next.

Meanwhile, our regional peers have already pivoted. In Kenya, Rwanda, and Ghana, teams lean into mobile-first updates, quick check-ins, WhatsApp summaries, and real-time decision-making. Speed is strategic. Focused iteration, not inertia, is the norm. This shift is not anecdotal anymore. It is economic.

This culture of inefficiency spills beyond work into social life. A casual coffee chat becomes a half-day marathon. Lunch drags on endlessly. Events swell with delays and digressions, often heartfelt, but ultimately exhausting. Our relationship with time is elastic, but elasticity kills focus. People leave drained, not recharged.

Imagine something different: meetings reframed as micro-projects. One clear objective. One facilitator. Three to five participants. Twenty minutes, max. Everyone speaks. No one dominates. A shared document tracks decisions. Follow-ups are assigned. Conversations follow a rhythm: status, blockers, resolution, next steps.

Even more radically, consider a national meeting culture reset. Every institution could embrace agile rituals as an urgent necessity. This transformation could begin with one outcome-driven sync at a time, requiring intention and a cultural commitment to clarity. “Let’s meet” would become a purposeful act, not a default reflex.

Ethiopia’s strong social fabric means meetings often serve to connect and bond. Community matters, but when camaraderie overshadows goals, work suffers. Progress stalls without a robust culture of iteration, accountability, and definitive closure.

In high-performing teams globally, efficiency is sacred. Executive meetings rarely exceed 20 minutes, with agendas shared in advance and meetings starting promptly. Decisions are documented, responsibilities assigned, and timelines tracked. The format is simple: “What is new? What is blocked? What is next?”

Everyone leaves knowing precisely what to do and by when. Every hour wasted is a crucial missed opportunity, time not spent innovating, building, or resting. For a developing nation like Ethiopia, these hours accumulate rapidly, imposing a significant national cost. Without streamlined communication, we fall behind.

Effective time management is a critical national imperative. Focused attention cultivates clarity, and clear decisions catalyze momentum. Professionals feel valued, energy is conserved, and rapid responses become the norm. Organizations adapt and thrive instead of stagnating.

What if we reclaimed meetings as drivers of change, short, deliberate, and empowering? What if we protected our energy by designing gatherings that respect both time and intention?

What if we reclaimed meetings as dynamic drivers of change; short, deliberate, and empowering? What if we protected our collective energy by designing gatherings that profoundly respect both time and intention? The payoff would be tangible: enhanced morale, swifter execution, and greater impact.

Through small, steady changes, Ethiopia’s organizations can transform meetings from time sinks into strategic engines. The real game changer is not a new system or structure. It is the fundamental decision that our time matters, and the deliberate design of every meeting to prove it. If just half of the country’s work meetings saved one hour per week, we would unlock tens of thousands of invaluable hours. This is development, measured precisely in minutes.

The Weight of the World

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The film Straw did not just break a heart, it reached into something deeper, unsettling a primal fear that resides in every parent. As a mother, the thought of losing a child is not merely distressing, it is destabilizing. It lives beneath the surface of daily life, always waiting to emerge in moments of silence, in dreams, in sudden news.

This film dragged that fear into the open, with unflinching intensity. It was not just the grief that struck so deeply; it was the slow-motion unraveling of a woman stretched beyond what any person should be asked to endure. Fair warning: spoilers follow.

Janiyah, the protagonist, held on for her daughter, for hope, for meaning, for some semblance of balance in a world intent on knocking her off course. She clung to survival for her daughter, her anchor in a tumultuous sea. But even anchors can be torn loose. What struck hardest was not a single dramatic event, but the accumulation of quiet devastations: an impounded car, a sick child, an inflexible job, a paycheck locked behind a bureaucracy.

These were not explosions. They were slow leaks, invisible until the collapse became inevitable.

It is astonishing how the line between right and wrong begins to blur when survival is at stake. A person with a gentle heart can be driven to desperate acts when every safety net fails. Janiyah’s moral descent was not born of recklessness; it was born of exhaustion, of a system that offered no exits.

The movie captures that slow erosion with such precision that it leaves the viewer haunted. Misfortune does not arrive politely, it floods in. As with money: when abundance comes, it pours. But when scarcity strikes, it seems to draw out every bill, every demand, every sudden crisis.

What Straw lays bare is not just personal tragedy, it is the cruelty of indifference. Janiyah’s boss, convinced she was merely being irresponsible, enforced policy over compassion. And how often does that happen? When struggling people are met not with grace, but with suspicion. When structure overtakes empathy, even the most basic kindness, like releasing a paycheck in a moment of crisis, becomes an insurmountable hurdle.

And this is not limited to one city, one job, or even one country. Straw reminded viewers that even in wealthy nations, people are running on empty. Two or three jobs just to afford rent. Choosing between electricity and medicine. Watching the lights go out while working harder than ever.

The film exposed the slow violence of poverty with such honesty that it hurt. Watching it with children brought another layer entirely. Their innocent questions, “Why is the mommy crying?” “Why does she have a gun?”, cut deeper than any cinematic scene. The intention was not to share the film with them, but once it began, their eyes were glued, and somehow, life took over.

Perhaps the most frustrating moment was watching child protection services prepare to take Janiyah’s daughter. It is a troubling paradox. While child welfare systems are built to protect the vulnerable, they often operate on assumptions that border on dangerous. The idea that a state official can love or raise a child better than a struggling but devoted parent is a hubristic one.

Yes, abuse exists. But in the vast majority of cases, parents would walk into fire for their children. What right, then, does a system have to step in based on bureaucratic criteria alone?

In some countries, governments go as far as regulating when a child can get their ears pierced. In others, millions are spent on irreversible surgeries for children whose identities are still forming. And yet, those same institutions claim the authority to tell a parent how to raise a child.

It is a contradiction too stark to ignore. No one is denying that terrible parents exist. But they are not the rules, they are the outliers. Most families, in all their imperfection, offer more love than any formal institution can replicate. Foster care, for all its good intentions, is not a utopia.

Even biological parents struggle to treat their own children equally; favoritism, discipline, affection all vary. Expecting strangers to love foster children as their own is an ideal rarely achieved. While there are beautiful stories of compassion and rescue, they are not the norm. More often than not, foster care becomes a holding pattern, not a haven.

Straw delivered all these truths not with preachiness, but with pain. Real, unflinching, unbearable pain. It forced reflection, not just on the policies and systems that govern society, but on the judgments, people cast without understanding what someone might be carrying. It provoked a grief not limited to the screen, and tears that were not easily wiped away.

The movie’s power lies in its simplicity.

It asks no grand political questions, but it demands empathy. It reveals how even the smallest denial, of a paycheck, a favor, a break, can become the final straw. The one act that tips someone over the edge. Janiyah’s story is not unique, and that is what makes it so crushing. It is a portrait of thousands, perhaps millions, walking daily along a line far thinner than the world cares to admit.

44500000

Posted on by Digital Editor

The budget in Birr approved by the Council of Ministers for the Council of Constitutional Inquiry for the fiscal year 2025/26. This is one of the most glaring variances in the entire budget bill, as the Council requested over 1.6 billion Br, an amount 3,671.63pc larger than what has been approved.

KEGNA BEER POURS INTO COMPETITIVE MARKET

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Kegna Beverages on Saturday, June 14, 2025, uncorked its first bottles of Kegna Beer, a domestically owned, five percent ABV lager brewed in the West Shewa Zone of Oromia Regional State, marking what regional officials hailed as a fresh chapter for the beverage market. The launch drew senior dignitaries, among them President Taye Asqesilase and Shimelis Abdisa, president of the Oromia Regional State, who was accompanied by Alebel Melaku (left), minister of Industry, and Neway Megersa, president of Siinqee Bank, who is also the board chairman of Kegna Beverage. They were joined by hundreds of residents in the company’s hometown of Ginchi, 80Km west of Addis Abeba.

Backed by more than 4,000 shareholders – individuals, cooperatives and companies – Kegna Beverages has spent 22 billion Br to build a state-of-the-art brewery on 110hct of land it acquired after its incorporation in 2017. The plant, fitted out with equipment from Germany’s Krones Group and steel frames supplied by Emirates Building Systems of Dubai Investments, is engineered to turn out more than three million hectoliters a year.